Red flags and Long nights
by skinnieminnie
Summary: open your eyes and see me, tell me that it's not too late. Because their romance is true. SpikexFaye
1. Weighing us down in shame

I always found it rather amusing how Faye was kind of portrayed as this slutty character, even though you never really see her hitting on guys (unless you count Andy. lol.) Seems to me she only used her womanly ways to her own benefits. Wrote this while listening to Dizzy Gillespie, so it might seem a bit jumbled, but this is kinda my first Cowboy Bebop fic, I wrote quite a few others but they SUCK BIG TIME ^_^

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A long time ago he would have thought she was a slut, he'd probably even call her one to. With all that makeup, the tiny awful yellow shirt, and that bit of fabric she calls shorts. Not to mention the high heel boots, stockings, and those damn suspenders. _Why the hell did she need suspenders with that little get up of hers?. _Sure a long time ago he would have called her a slut, a whore, a tramp, a hooker. Shit, he could go on. But not anymore. He can call Faye _anything_ but a slut. And it's not in the way she pistol whips anyone who dares pinch her butt. Or how she scowls whenever a dirty old man calls her baby. How she curses when a man stares too long at her cleavage. Or even how she's been on the ship for god knows how long and he's never, ever seen her with a man. Hell, he's never even seen her flirt with a guy that didn't have a bounty on his head.

No, it's not any of these reasons. It's in the way she pulls and tugs at that damn red shirt. The way she bites her lip and pulls the shirt over her shoulders when she feels him staring. How he knows she's watched that video again, because she wears the shirt buttoned all the way up, the edge so long that it covers her legs. And how that time Vincent took her hostage she wore the blouse up for a whole week after. She doesn't say anything but he sees it in her eyes.

His eyes linger on her form as she stretches her arms high above her head, he focuses on the smooth milky white of her stomach, the way it stretches taut over the organ. His eyes move downwards, towards the expanse of her perfect lithe legs, only clad in those ridiculous stockings. Then back up again, he sees her chest heave, and her breasts are pushed out, if only he could get so close. His eyes finally rest on her face and she's looking at him. Her eyes wide, mouth agape. _He sees it in her eyes_. She's exposed. She has nowhere to run, to hide, it's only him and her, in the main room of the Bebop. Where the only sounds are the grunting whirring of the fans above, and the thumping of her heartbeat, or is it his heart that's threatening to explode out of his chest?.

She opens her mouth but nothing comes out. She wants to tell him to get up and kiss her already, to take her to his room because she wouldn't dream of objecting to his proposal. And he waits because he longs to hear her voice utter these four little words. _Take me to bed_. He waits for the day when she'll walk in and grab him by the hair and kiss him till his lips hurt. The silence is killing them both. So she does what she always does. She bites her lip and pulls that fucking red shirt over her shoulders. She's safe again. Out of sight, out of mind. Isn't that the way it goes?. He sees it in her eyes. Vulnerable. She feels exposed so she pulls the red shirt over her shoulders.

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I might write more of this but idk i'm already writing another fic for Samurai Champloo.......


	2. All Cats Are Grey

Sometimes. But only sometimes she wonders what it would be like if Spike loved her. Only sometimes will she think about such trivial things. She wonders if Spike loved her, would he take her out to dinner?, or maybe he would do stupid little things like holding the door open for her when they went places as opposed to hurrying and threatening to leave her every damn place they went. Maybe he'd take her for ice cream, or to the park. They'd sit on a park bench and spend their time cuddling, each talking about their awful pasts and how they're so fucking happy at last. Maybe he'd buy her flowers, roses lots of them. Wait. No. Screw the goddamn roses. No he'd buy her sunflowers, daisies, lilies, anything and everything but roses. And she'd always have a shit eating grin on her face.

Ok so she had to admit it probably would be nothing like that, because Spike wasn't like any other man she'd ever met. In this life and the past one. He was complete and utterly unique in his own fucked up kind of way. So maybe instead he'd offer up his last cigarette, he'd probably say something like _it's ok I'll just buy another pack _and his lips would turn to smile in that incredibly beautiful way they always did. Maybe he would buy her another glock for their anniversary, because he noticed how she always had a hard time releasing the safe on the other one. And instead of a fancy restaurant he'd take her to some run down bar on Mars because they had the best damn bourbon in the entire solar system. Maybe he would replace the flowers for trips to the pony races. He'd hold her hand the entire time smirking and chuckling every time she lost. And still she would always have a shit eating grin on her face.

But Faye has to smile whenever she thinks this, because she knows this will never, ever, ever happen. Not if she had been frozen and thawed out as a Swedish supermodel, or wherever models came from these days. Not if she dyed her hair blonde and called herself Marilyn. It was too sad. It made her want to cry. Spike would never love her. He was way in too deep with Julia to even look twice her way. And there was nothing she could do about it. She would always be Faye the shrew, the bitch, the woman with an attitude, the girl who sang off key, and wore clothes too small for her. And Spike would never, ever, ever buy her flowers.


End file.
